No More Worlds Left to Conquer
by satbiym
Summary: They said the Nikiforov line was descended from Achilles, the greatest warrior to have ever lived, himself. In a battle against the rival nation of Hasetsu, Victor Nikiforov The Great, Megas Basileus, King of The World, finally meets his match. Too bad his match is not as easy to persuade….
1. Chapter 1

They said the Nikiforov line was descended from Achilles, the greatest warrior to have ever lived, himself.

This explained why the way the news of an incoming Nikiforov army was enough to make even the strongest of armies bleat songs of surrender.

It was said Victor Nikiforov's army consisted of the greatest collection of fighters ever assembled, and had never lost a battle.

Of course, the Duke of Hasetsu thought grimly, tightening his hold on his trusted spear, there's always a first time for everything.

* * *

The Victory Ball was lavish, with open-armed wine, as well as open-armed men and women.

Victor's lips quirked as he took in the spectacle. As _Megas Basileus,_ it wouldn't be out of sorts for him to give into the rare indulgence of partaking in the feasts available.

A man nearby laughed throatily.

 _All_ the feasts available _._

For after all, Macedon had, for the first time ever, defeated its historic enemy and combatant in the field of battle. Even the harshest critics wouldn't begrudge The Great Victor Nikiforov, Megas Basileus, from partaking in the festivities that were being held in the Palace of Hasetsu.

In fact, it might even be expected of him. _To_ , to quote his illustrious teacher Yakov known throughout the lands by the name Aristotle, _do his duty and provide a fitting heir to the empire Victor was creating_.

But, despite the vibrancy filling the air, and the muted sounds of laughter and merriment he could hear from his position from the balcony, Victor could feel a hazy feeling of lassitude clouding his body.

Inspite the fact that he had successfully conquered all the lands till the end of the world, he could no longer feel his soul being stirred.

 _What was happening to him?_ Who would have thought that being Megas Basileus, _the king of the whole world_ , and that too the first to achieve the rank would be so…. _Uninspiring_.

Maybe the Muses had abandoned him after all. For war, what had once been art to him, had become routine. No Muse would stand for that.

Victor resisted the urge to sigh, and looked out at the land that was now his.

It was lovely.

Pity that it was filled with barbarians who didn't appreciate its beauty. And Victor, who had been trained in the arts and sciences since he was naught but a babe, could forgive a man for being barbaric, but not for being unmoved by beauty.

Tis a sin, that.

To be privileged enough to experience beauty and be unaffected is a sure sign of a true monster.

Victor spied a blooming rose bush near a lake from the corner of his eye. With the muted laughter from the hall still ringing in his ears, he made a decision.

Victor, despite what some naysayers would have you believe, was no monster.

* * *

 _Oh! Most miserable wretch that I am! Why have I not learnt how to swim?_

In Victor's defence, reaching out to pull out a particularly red rose from the bush, didn't seem like it would end up costing him his life. Of course, presenting all the theory in the world wouldn't help Victor in his current predicament of flailing frantically, feet vying for firm ground, as he tried his best to keep his head above the water in the lake he had fallen prey to.

 _And this is how The Great Victor Nikiforov met his match, not on a battlefield, but against nature herself. What wrongs have I wrought upon you, Mother, for you to turn on me this way?_

Victor shouted louder, urging someone, _anyone,_ to help.

Victor could feel his lungs burning and his vision blurring, if he didn't think of something, he was going to be seeing his father earlier than originally planned.

He struggled harder, kicks becoming stronger in instinctual desperation.

" _ **Stop.**_ "

Victor heard the singular word as someone pressed up behind him, chest to Victor's back, with the stranger's arms surrounding Victor's chest. Victor, who prided himself on his ability to take guidance from experts in areas unfamiliar to him, obeyed.

Slowly, but surely, the stranger guided the two of them to the shore, arms firm, but oddly gentle in its security, across Victor's chest.

Finally, Victor slumped to the ground, resisting the urge to pray to Gaia.

 _Terra Firma._

"Are you well?"

Victor looked up at his rescuer, and…..

He felt his soul stir.

For in front of him was Ganymede himself, a little soaked and a lot worried about Victor, if the frown lines were any indication, but all the more lovelier for it.

" _Xene_ , listen, I need you to tell me if you are having any trouble breathing." The stranger continued, tone urgent.

Victor _was_ having trouble breathing, but he didn't think that that was what Ganymede here was referring to.

Victor turned his thoughts to the other interesting word the stranger had used: _Xene._ Foreigner. How very polite, at least he wasn't being addressed as "young man" or "human being," or the worst "that one over there," that degree of disinterest from this Aphroditic vision would injure him far more than any battle-field wound.

"I beg of you to answer me, lest I will be forced to call upon someone for assistance and I really do not want to have to resort to that. I have heard that the Megas Basileus is in attendance tonight, and I need to have words with him about other matters, not that you are not important as well-"

Victor blinked at the sudden torrent of information, and taking pity on the babbling man wringing his hands, said, despite his eagerness to hear more information from that lovely mouth, "All but my pride is hale and hearty, thanks to you."

The other man almost crumpled in relief, to Victor's fond amusement.

"Oh, thank god. You talk." The man said blankly, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it off of his forehead, revealing deep brown eyes.

Victor felt no answering amusement that would have normally arisen at the implication, instead feeling an increasing sense of gravitas, like something had fundamentally changed in the last few moments, envelop him.

This boy, Victor knew now with certainty and instinct, the kind that had won him battles when the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against him, was _important_.

Was this what the gods felt before they kidnapped mortals out of their beds, against advice, foresight and forethought? Was this the feeling that made them act against their better judgement, leading them to lay waste to all sense and follow their instincts with reckless abandon?

No, because unlike the gods, Victor was unwilling to do anything that would act against the will of this stranger, already so dear. He would rather cut off his sword-wielding arm than force himself on anyone, let alone someone who had unhesitatingly saved his life without knowing who Victor _was._

Victor needed some way to keep this man with him always, until he could figure out why he was so important, and he had to make the other man want it just as badly, if not more.

Victor just needed to apply some of the rakish charm he was renowned for. If the populous were to be believed, on the application of his charms, convincing any man or woman to do anything would be as simple as taking hard-boiled sweets from a babe.

Victor sat down, uncaring of the dirt now sticking to his expensive, wet clothes, and drawled, "Yes, I talk, and I am suddenly overcome with the need to _thank_ the fearless hero who saved me. Tell me, beloved, how would you prefer I thank you?"

The other man stepped away - possibly at the predatorial look that Victor knew he was probably wearing on his face - looking unnerved, and stuttered, "It's no matter, anyone would have -"

Victor tutted, the tip of his tongue kissing the top of his mouth, and said with no small amount of artful artifice, "Uh-uh, but no one _did_. Well, if you won't allow me to thank you, may I at least ask for your name? So I may forever remember this night in its completion as I lay awake at night."

The man colored at Victor's tone, and stuttered, "Um, you don't have to….My name is Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki."

Victor felt the smile drop out of his face.


	2. Chapter 2

They said the heir to the throne of Hasetsu had died in his crib, when the previously peaceful nation was sieged, mere hours after he was born with a birthmark of a wreath on his right shoulder.

When Victor had learnt of the event, at the tender age of four, he had cried for the poor babe who had never gotten to play in the gardens or rock in his mama's arms.

That was the start of the twenty-year old rivalry between Hasetsu and Macedon, culminating in a ten-year old war under Victor, the end of which was currently being celebrated inside the Palace of Hasetsu by the reigning Macedonians.

Victor rose, glad he was taller than the other man, and noncommittally said, "Oh? That name sounds familiar, are you famous perchance?"

The man coloured further and said, "I don't think so. It might just be one of those common names. I have not been outside my… home in a very long time, so I doubt someone like you has heard of me."

Victor didn't know what to think, if he didn't know any better he would have thought that the man, who so boldly called himself by the name of The Usurped Heir in the very location of the heir's death, was _shy._

Victor smiled, a fake thing, all charm, no depth, and said lightly, "That may be so, but now that I've met you, I don't think I can let you go easily."

The man claiming to be Yuuri Katsuki looked alarmed, taking a step back, he said, "O-oh. No, I'm afraid I have some place I need to be."

Victor smiled still, "Going to go see the Basileus, was it? I wonder what business you have with him, if you don't mind me prying, of course."

The man's face hardened until it seemed almost foreign from the mild-mannered man who had coloured so appealingly at Victor's words just moments before, as he said haltingly, but no less determinedly,"I have… been away. For reasons out of my control. But now it has come time for me to take responsibility for my actions, and protect those I hold dear. I intend to beg the Basileus to allow me that luxury."

Victor fought the urge to turn his gaze away from the almost frightful sincerity he was bearing display to. He had prepared himself for a sham, a smooth-talking rake with a penchant for luxuries, not _this._

Victor smoothened his face and said gently, "You shall, I question not, find a way to the top if you diligently seek for it; for nature hath placed nothing so high that it is out of the reach of industry and valor."

The man smiled, "Industry and valor, huh? I wonder..."

Victor raised an eyebrow at the tone, upon which the man laughed softly, saying, "Is that something they say where you come from? In Macedon?"

Victor felt himself start, how did he -

Upon seeing the alarm on Victor's face, the man calling himself by the name of a dead babe said hurriedly, words tripping over themselves in their haste to get out "No! I mean, you look like how Mi - my teacher told me Macedonians look."

Victor smiled, assured of the success of his continued deception, and asked, "And how is that I wonder? Wet, beleaguered, like someone who is -"

"Otherworldly."

Victor paused in his litany at the interruption. He looked at the other man, "Pardon?"

The other man said, straight-faced, unembarrassed, and spoke as if he had once repeated the words several times over, "Like someone who was descended from the gods themselves. Because that's what Macedonians are, right? Descendents of Zeus himself."

Victor, who had been lauded as the closest a mortal could get to the Olympians, felt himself pause at the reply.

But the man continued, "I never - I never understood what that meant, considering the logistics of it, but now that I have seen you, I am convinced, now more so than ever, that no mere mortal could look or talk the way you do without being part immortal. I may not have seen many before, but even my eyes can tell that _you_ are different. With you here, I do not need a fire to keep warm, your light is enough."

Victor, to his horror, felt himself blush, but managed to parry back, "I do not know about that, but we of Macedon for generations past have been trained in the hard school of danger and war. You'll find that we're very much mortal."

The man tilted his head, a drop of water falling from his hair to trail down the length of his face, considering, "I find it hard to believe someone as beautiful as like you would willfully condone anything so ugly."

Victor tamped down on the sudden urge to burst out in manic laughter, nerves fraught with tension.

This was the first time someone had seen Victor Nikiforov The Great as someone _too good_ for war, too good to be a weapon first and person second.

Wasn't that a funny thought by itself?

Victor, who had founded the very principles of modern warfare, considered too _beautiful_ for it by a sham, albeit a lovely one at that.

Victor collected himself, carefully not thinking of Yakov when he said, "For my own part, I would rather excel in knowledge of the highest secrets of philosophy than in arms."

The other man smiled with understanding, the moment lasting for a beat until it was interrupted by a kitten-like sneeze from the other man.

"Ah." Victor said, amused, "Seems we need to get you out of those clothes, lest you catch a fright of a cold."

The man hesitated slightly, looking longingly at the Palace gates.

"I doubt the Basileus will want you coughing on him when you manage to get your audience with him, Yuuri. Come along, I know a place where we can change our clothing." Victor said.

The man shivered, and nodded hurriedly, saying, "You're right. I must not be careless and risk offending him. They say he is a man with little patience for frivolity and weakness."

Victor started, though his face remained the same, as he thought back to his afternoons playing catch with his dog and his very much present patience, nay, _preference,_ for frivolities.

 _What in the world were they telling people about him these days?_

Honestly.

But, oh well, only one way to find out.

Victor smiled slyly, "Oh? And what else have "they" told you about the Basileus?"

Brown eyes lit up with barely-concealed fervor, "Oh! Growing up, I was told all manners of things about the Basileus. Of course, I exercised my own judgement about what I believed, of course, some of them were without a lick of truth in them, if you can believe it!"

Victor struggled to emote across polite inquiry, voice determinedly not shaking when he asked "Oh? Such as what?"

The man swung to look behind him, at Victor, voice affronted as he said heatedly, "They actually tried to get me to believe that the Basileus prefers flower crowns to his ceremonial wreath! I mean, honestly! Like the great king of Macedon would entertain something so… childish."

Victor pointedly, did not laugh, more in deference to the naked emotion in the man's tone than to some facade of courtesy.

This was turning out to be a pretty enlightening ball.

"I find that whatever possession we gain by our sword cannot be sure or last but the love gained by kindness and moderation is certain and durable. Maybe that's what he is trying to do, gain the people's love rather than their terror." Victor offhandedly quipped, not thinking twice about his words.

The man stopped.

He turned back to look at Victor, eyes bright with emotion and suspiciously shiny, and said, voice tremulous, "I wish this world was made up of people more like you than not. But… I'm afraid it's no longer a world for those with love in their hearts. This world is full of people who take and take and take, and think naught of giving back in return. But, I thank you. For reminding me that that is not all there is."

He bowed till his head was parallel to the floor, unembarrassed for the tears and emotion clouding his voice.

And Victor, for the first time in the evening, felt a tinge of guilt.


	3. Chapter 3

They reached the stable in silence, the other man looking around wondrously, as if he had never seen the Palace he claimed to be the heir of.

Victor cleared his throat and attempted to do the same for his conscience.

"I believe the garments we can change into are there," Victor said, pointing to the bags hidden behind the neighing line of horses.

At Victor voice the horses whinnied louder, peeping further out of their stalls to try and get a glimpse of Victor. Victor smiled, this time out of fondness.

"They know you." The man said, a wondering tone, somehow his tone implied a query that didn't ask for an answer; wanting them, but wanting to find them independent of outside influence.

Victor stalled. He could pretend he didn't know them, forestalling the inevitable realization….

Victor's mental machinations were cut off by a slobbery warmness that butted against his hand.

Victor sighed, but nonetheless patted his faithful steed who had given away his master's strategy before it had even begun.

"Greetings my beautiful boy." Victor crooned, patting the black head adorned with a white star.

A gasp filled the air.

Victor turned to look at the other man, who was staring wide-eyed at the horse currently nudging Victor's pockets, probably looking for hidden apples.

"That - The star on his head, the blue eye, and the ox-head brand on his haunch… that's _Bucephalus."_

Victor laughed uncomfortably at the tone wrapped in shock and awe, wondering how he was going to talk himself out of this one; he decided to assess the information on the other side first, "Heard of him, have you?"

The way the man's head shook incredulously would have been comical if his act wasn't at the danger of being found out, as he stumbled out "Heard of - That's the Megas Basileus's horse! Even a fool living solely in the company of ants has heard of the most famous horse in _history._ "

"You're very, um, creative with your words." Victor said weakly, mind still racing.

The man stepped forward in his eagerness, only to step back hurriedly when the previously docile horse snorted threateningly in his direction.

And damn if those brown eyes didn't look so damn _injured._

Victor bit back a sigh.

Mila was going to have his head for this.

Victor beckoned the man to stay where he was with his hands, saying, "It's alright, Bucephalus is just… a tad testy around night time. It's nothing against you, personally."

The man settled back on the soles of his feet, now looking more enthused than hurt - thank Zeus for that - and rambled, "Of course! I should have known, silly me. Everyone knows the tale of how the Basileus tamed him. I was just being careless in my excitement, for you see, I have never seen a horse before him."

Victor blinked, his keen instincts giving up in the face of such absurdity, _never seen a horse before?_ Where had this man grown up, in a dungeon?

But, on seeing the earnest look in the other's eyes, Victor decided to play along with the farce, saying, "Oh, then it's your lucky day to have your first be someone as fine as Bucephalus here. His breeding is from the best Thessalian strain."

The other man nodded eagerly, and said, "I _am_ lucky. Both to have had the opportunity to meet Bucephalus, as well as a stable master as accomplished as yourself."

Victor's brain stalled.

"Pardon?" Victor said politely, despite his brain having decided to not participate in the conversation any longer. It wasn't the other man's fault _Victor's_ brain had misheard, phony or no, he deserved at the bare minimum, some politeness.

Only… the other man's face was alight with sincerity, "That's who you are, correct? For it is known that no one other than the Megas Basileus could seat Bucephalus. It would make sense for the only other person to be the Basileus's stable master, and given how much he likes you… Have I offended you in some way?"

Victor smiled brightly, forcibly wiping away the incredulous face he must have been making. Gods, the lengths mortals will go to deceive themselves about something that is right in front of their very eyes.

But unknowing or not, the other man had just provided Victor's cover for him.

The gods take, but the gods also give a way.

"No, none! I was merely impressed at your deduction skills." Victor said brightly.

"Oh! That's a relief, because for a moment you looked… no matter. I was right though, you _are_ special! For no one else who works as closely with such magnificent animals could be anything but!" The man said happily, shooting longing looks at Bucephalus.

Victor clenched his fist in protest.

 _Oh, what does it matter now._

Victor said, gentler than before, "You said you know how the Basileus tamed Bucephalus, can you perchance recount it for me?"

The man - if it was possible - brightened even further, and with a tone of someone delivering a bedtime tale to a babe, said, "The Basileus noticed that Bucephalus was scared of shadows, and that was why he was so distressed. He first spoke soothingly to the horse, all the while turning him towards the sun until he could no longer see his own shadow, and divesting himself of his own cloak. Thus, Bucephalus, no longer afraid, was tamed by the Basileus, a feat no man had achieved before, which the Basileus succeeded at at the age of twelve."

Victor fought the urge to redden at the admiring tone, and continued, just as gently, "Precisely. Move away from the light, your shadow is scaring Bucephalus. That's why he snorted at you. Go towards the wall, where the light won't hit you, and walk towards me."

The air seemed to shimmer with the other man's hope, as he quietly did as Victor instructed, flattening himself against the wall and walking towards Bucephalus and Victor, Bucephalus paying him no mind.

A hush fell as the man finally stood before a disinterested Bucephalus.

The man didn't move, choosing to stare wide-eyed at the horse. Clearly unclear of his next move.

At the sight of the confusion, Victor carefully took the other man's hands, repressing his initial surprise at their softness - like they had never held a sword - and placed it lightly upon Bucephalus's head, right over the white star pattern.

Bucephalus snorted, this time with less hostility than before, and abandoned Victor to sniff at the other man's pockets, drawing a (adorable) squeak from the man at the movement.

Victor felt warmth curl up in his heart as he watched the other man pet his favourite horse and childhood friend with non-covetous awe, watching the horse like someone laying eyes on the sunset for the first time.

"You know, in my head, I had always imagined horses to be huge, lumbering beasts of war. But he is quite remarkable, and beautiful, isn't he? The Basileus must be gifted with extraordinary empathy to be able to recognize a creature in pain, when the rest of the world only saw danger." The man whispered, still cradling Bucephalus's head.

Aw, damnation.

Victor The Great, Megas Basileus, Warrior, Macedonian, and now apparently, Stable Master.

Oh, how Yakov would laugh when he heard of this absurd tale.

"You should really be getting out of those clothes, lest you catch a fever tomorrow." Victor said stiltedly, unable to understand the emotions toiling within him.

The man laughed, a soft, marvelous thing, saying, "I will, in a moment. Just a moment more, if you please."

Victor resisted the urge to tell him that he would be happy to stand here all night with him, if he wanted, and he stood with him in the quiet bubble they had found themselves in. Until, finally the man broke away with a musical laugh, stepping back.

"I'm ready now."

Victor mentally shook himself, dispelling the fog that had sunk into his mind, and reached for the bag near Bucephalus, saying, "Fortunately for us, the Macedonians left their luggage here after the battle. This means we have garments to change into. Here. Take this one."

The other man stepped back, looking alarmed, "But won't they be upset at us stealing their clothes?"

"I imagine we need them more than they do at this point. The moral high ground is on our side, I assure you. Here."

The man took the clothes, eyeing the ornate work on it. Victor stayed silent and firmly didn't tell him that he was currently changing into the Basileus's own clothes.

He instead pulled out another pair for himself.

Unashamed of their nudity, in true Greek fashion, they started undressing in front of the other.

Victor sighed as he was met with great difficulties trying to unclasp his robes, the water making the expensive garment heavier and cumbersome.

"Would you like some assistance?"

"How should a man be capable of grooming his own horse, or of furbishing his own spear and helmet, if he allows himself to become unaccustomed to tending even his own person, which is his most treasured belonging?" Victor said wryly.

The other man laughed, turning away, back to Victor, kindly looking away as Victor struggled to escape his threaded prison, and said, "If you say so, but help is near, if you find yourself undone by your clothes."

Victor smiled at the imagery, shaking his head.

The man started pulling off his top.

Victor emerged victorious, and not to be undone in any battle, be it by sword or by tongue, quipped "Yes well, you will find that - "

Victor stopped short, eyes catching on the birthmark of a wreath on the other man's exposed right shoulder.

The man turned back askance, at the sudden silence, catching Victor's wide eyes with his own.

Victor was very aware of his breathing.

"What? No answering quip. Have the cloths finally defeated you?"

Victor fought to keep his emotions out of his face, internally reeling, half-hearing what Yuuri - for this was Yuuri Katsuki, Heir to Hasetsu, of that he was now sure - had just said. He wondered what he should do next: kill Yuuri as he stood, vulnerable and alone, to strengthen his claim to Hasetsu, or…

 _The Basileus must be gifted with extraordinary empathy to be able to recognize a creature in pain, when the rest of the world only saw danger._

Victor smiled back.

"There are so many worlds and I have not yet conquered even one. Not even the one in the realm of silk and cotton." Victor said.

Yuuri laughed, throwing his head back, exposing his throat, "I'm think a man like you could conquer anything he wished to conquer." He said, amusement lacing his tone.

Victor raised an eyebrow, "You think?"

Those eyes warmed, leaving Victor feeling like he was being watched after by a benevolent sun, and Yuuri said, fondness and certainty mixed with emotions it was surely too soon to be feeling, "No, I _know."_

They looked at each other, Victor content to not move and return to a place where they would no longer be able to exist unquestioned. Victor had always considered a world with questions to be the only one he wanted to live in, but now...

Bucephalus whinnied, the sound gently knocking at the door to the new world Victor had just been introduced to.

He emerged, different from who he had been before he had entered it.

"I hope I can borrow some of your courage, for I am to attempt some conquering myself." Yuuri said softly, determinedly.

Victor, knowing just who Yuuri intended to conquer, just said, softly, truthfully, "I'm sure no one has the gall to refuse you anything, Beloved. If they do, come and find me, you'll find that I'm a worthy ally to keep. Now, Let us conduct ourselves so that all men wish to be our friends and all fear to be our enemies."

Yuuri smiled shyly, and ducking his head, said "Thank you for your support. I will carry it with me as I charge onto my personal battlefield."

Victor smiled, knowing the moment of truth was very near, and said lightly, "You sound like you're saying your farewells, Beloved."

Yuuri looked back with determination and nodded, bowing, "I must take my leave, reluctant as it may be. I hope that you… I wish you the best of health. Be well."

Victor echoed the farewell, softly, eyes trailing the boy as he walked away, towards the palace.

Victor wondered what Yuuri had been about to say before he changed his mind. He wondered if it meant Yuuri had, just for a moment, wanted to stay in an unquestioning world as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

I would like to thank everyone who was kind enough to leave a review for this fic, it really kept me going. Special shoutout to daniperez, thank you so much for your kind words, your review kept me going and gave me the push to post this.

Side Note: This fic is cross-posted to AO3, so if you have an account there, I go by satbiym and updates there are sometimes quicker.

Happy Reading!

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The Basileus was angry.

Yuuri could feel the air grow heavy with unease and the knowledge that blood was soon going to be spilt on the glistening and pristine marble floor of the ballroom.

 _Well, can't exactly consider this a good omen but when I am involved, is that ever the case?_

Yuuri ducked his head under his borrowed cloak as the restlessness rustling through the room caused everyone to turn to their nearest neighbor and whisper to them.

Yuuri moved slowly, careful not to draw attention to himself, along the wall, trying to catch a glimpse of the Basileus. The ballroom was large and filled with light from the candles arranged around it. This was Yuuri's first time in a room that should have been his birthright. It would have - in another lifetime - been Yuuri's hearth and home, his to love and protect.

It was… resplendent, awash with golden light and warmth.

But it wasn't Yuuri's.

Not in this lifetime.

Yuuri could see a clear pathway to the head of the ballroom, where a man was speaking to a figure on the throne.

"My King, Darius the Third, will not bow down to upstarts with no knowledge of either warfare or the world. Thus, my King has refused the meeting you have proposed."

Yuuri's eyes widened. This was not going to end well.

The hall broke out in loud gasps of affront. Yuuri fought the urge to shudder, they all wanted the messenger's blood on the floor they were just moments ago laughing and dancing on.

Yuuri moved forward before he knew what had consumed him, _he did not want -_

"Do you hear them, Messenger? The way they thirst for your blood?" A familiar voice drawled, unaffected and lazy.

Yuuri dropped to a halt. That voice…

"And what pray tell happened to the messenger I sent to King Darius, he has not returned from his mission." The voice continued, deceptively light for even Yuuri could recognize the threat of violence in it.

 _I would rather excel in knowledge of the highest secrets of philosophy than in arms._

His hands started shaking.

"I - Basileus, he was..." The messenger stuttered.

"Oh, Basileus, am I, now?" Victor said silkily, running a finger down a glass of red wine held carelessly in his hand, "How interesting, the timing of your choosing to show respect. I supposed I am no longer an upstart without knowledge of warfare or the world, when _your_ life comes into question."

The messenger fell to his knees and cried, "Basileus, I beg for mercy, I am merely -"

Victor got up smoothly, and walked down to the messenger, a hand lightly caressing the sheathed sword by his side.

"A messenger? So, was the one I sent to Darius. But that didn't stop Darius from sending him back in pieces, did it? Now why should your fate not resemble his?" Victor said, entire worlds in his eyes.

 _No!_

The messenger broke down in tears and started begging.

Yuuri had never - _Yuuri couldn't breathe -_

Victor, kind, beautiful Victor who loved art and touched Bucephalus with reverence, continued, voice like iron, _"_ Now you fear punishment and beg for your lives, so I will let you free, if not for any other reason so that you can see the difference between a Greek king and a barbarian tyrant, so do not expect to suffer any harm from me. A king does not kill messengers."

The court erupted in whispers.

"But, Basileus! He has disrespected you! And that barbarian killed your messenger! Justice must be served!" A voice cried out.

 _Why couldn't he move?_

Victor momentarily closed his eyes and, moving past the messenger who was still weeping, declared to the upset crowd, "The end and object of conquest is to avoid doing the same thing as the conquered. We are not barbarians, we are Macedonians, and we will comport ourselves as such. Do you mean to imply that I should take cues from the King of barbarians?" Victor finished challengingly.

The crowd, who was just seconds ago demanding blood, suddenly settled as assent swept through them. Yuuri, still unable to move, was stunned at the change in mood.

All around him people were saying,

"We are Macedonians. We cannot stoop their level."

"May the day never come when we cannot separate ourselves from them."

They all had the same words on their lips,

 _"Long live, Megas Basileus!"_

 _"Long live, Megas Basileus!"_

 _"Long live, Megas Basileus!"_

Yuuri stood and watched as Victor, more golden and warm than even the brightest of fires, soaked it all in from his rightful place at the center of the room.

He was… resplendent.

He looked like hearth and home, like something Yuuri could never have, not in this lifetime anyway.

At that moment, Yuuri found the strength to move forward, pulling back his cloak, exposing his face, and loudly, with enough strength to reach the corners of the room, said, "I request an audience with the Megas Basileus."

x

* * *

x

Victor looked… prepared, like he was readying himself for war. Was this how he looked when he had faced the Duke?

Victor waved off the guards that had sprung up to restrain Yuuri and, turning his back to Yuuri, went back up to the throne and took a seat.

"And just who are you, Intruder? Identify yourself." A man close to Victor's side said with a reedy voice, Yuuri didn't look away from Victor, who was staring back just the same.

The blue depths gave him the strength to say, "My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I am the heir to Hasetsu, or was the heir, before the Usurper, The Duke of Hasetsu, killed my family and imprisoned me."

Victor's face was impassive, as the court broke out in discussion once again.

"Impossible! The Heir died the day the Duke took over!" The old man said angrily.

Yuuri tore his eyes away to stare at the man, and chillingly said, "And pray tell, how sure are you of the words of an Usurper, a man with the conviction needed to kill a babe? Will you trust such a man's words? Is this the famed Macedonian judgement?"

The old man's face flamed with fury and he angrily said, "You are a sham, there is no proof that you are he. Get out before the Basileus kills you for insulting the dead with your tales."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow and in one sweep, took off the clothes covering his chest and turned his back to the throne, "My teacher told me that as the Heir of Hasetsu, I carry the blessings of the gods. These blessings manifested on me as a birthmark in the shape of a wreath on my right shoulder. If you still think of me as a sham, strike me dead while you have the chance, for I will not move until I've had my audience with the Basileus."

Yuuri waited.

The whispers grew louder as people drew closer to Yuuri to get a better look, some even going as far as to touch his shoulder and try to scratch the mark off. Yuuri bore it all with nary a whimper.

"Get away from him." Victor's voice boomed with authority, making everyone scatter like cattle.

Yuuri stayed put, with his back to Victor, awaiting judgement.

"Oh, turn back around, you ridiculous child." The old man said, exasperated.

Yuuri turned back, bare-chested and looked at the throne, where Victor sat without any emotion on his face.

He didn't look surprised.

 _Did he already know?_

The hall was quiet as they all waited for Victor to speak.

And after a moment of consideration, he did.

"And just what do you want from this audience, from _me_?" Victor asked, a somber look on his handsome face.

"I just…I - " Yuuri stuttered, startled at the emotion the question had incited in himself, unable to answer.

Victor's face shuttered, "I see." He said quietly.

Yuuri couldn't stand to look at the unsurprised melancholy on Victor's face, like he had been expecting Yuuri's answer, his lack of faith _in Victor_. So he answered the truth that swirled around in his head every time he so much as looked at Victor.

He said in a voice that rang with sincere fervour, the kind reserved for Priestesses talking about their patron god, "You ask me what I want from you, My King? I want for no glory or gold. Instead I want something far more priceless and precious."

The court minister shifted, unsatisfied murmurs filling the air, as the whole world sat with baited breath to see what the defunct heir of an invaded country would ask of Victor the Great.

What could be more precious than gold itself?

Victor pursed his lips, and waited with the world.

Yuuri looked up at the throne, eyes lit like Greek fire, and softly said with gravitas that made the words reach till the eavesdropping door-bearer on the other side of the throne room, "I just want to _be by your side_. In any way you will allow and tolerate; I would follow you across the Indus River without a second thought, I would willingly march towards a waiting army, I would walk hungry a thousand miles in the noon-day sun, all for the privilege of being by your side. Grant me this one indulgence, My King, _keep me by your side and never let go._ "

Victor's eyes were like the rising sun.

Victor spoke, with a finality that quietened even the loudest of the protesters, "So be it."


End file.
